


One Foolish Heart

by ZeroToWeirdo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Godparents Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), it is totally requited, just because, the original male character has been named Eddie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:21:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroToWeirdo/pseuds/ZeroToWeirdo
Summary: "Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that while Armageddon had been stopped, the world had truly ended that day. At least, the world as he knew it."With the world having not-ended, Aziraphale and Crowley suddenly find a whole future ahead of them. With that future came hope, as well as dreams that were under threat of coming true. If only they weren't both such dunderheaded fools about it, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that while Armageddon had been stopped, the world had truly ended that day. At least, the world as he knew it.

 

No more hiding his infatuation with human living from judgemental angels, no more receiving nasty memos from Heaven chastising him for frivolous miracles, and best of all…best of all, no more hiding his companionship with Crowley like some illicit secret.  

 

Since the day they had both returned to their respective forms after pulling the wool over both Heaven and Hell’s eyes, every other day had been filled with walks in the park, lunches at cafes, dinners at restaurants and evening drinks at the bookshop. They even visited Adam in Tadfield every so often, taking up their positions as his informal godparents. He needed supernatural mentors who could teach him temperance when using his miraculous abilities, after all.

 

Aziraphale was, dare he say it, content.

Well, mostly content.

Often content.

 

Alright, apparently he wasn’t good at being completely satisfied with what he had. Among the sins he had begun to pick up from the humans were gluttony, vanity and greed, and while his gluttony and vanity were quite easily assuaged cakes and waistcoats, he was discovering that his greed was limitless. Specifically, his greed for Crowley’s time and attention, and now that he had _that_ in bountiful heaps, his love.

Which was _stupid _.__

He’d wanted Crowley to love him for quite some time now, he was angel enough to admit it (though he had tried his best not to acknowledge it even in his own mind) but dammit he’d never done anything quite as silly as to actively _hope_ for it _ _.__ Till now, of course.

 

Crowley had been right. For someone so smart, Aziraphale was so blessedly __stupid__ to want something a demon could not, or would not, give.

Love? Really? Idiot!

“Absolute foolishness.”

“Excuse me?”

 

Aziraphale nearly jumped a foot in surprise, dropping his feather duster with a cry. He was so deep in his self flagellation, he hadn’t noticed the bell of the front door ring, nor the steps of this (rather well-dressed) man approaching him where he stood, which happened to be before a shelf of first edition Sir Arthur Conan Doyle-s, that he also happened to be dusting rather too viciously for their age.

 

“Oh good heavens! I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t hear you come in. How awfully rude of me. Is there anything I can help you with?” Aziraphale gushed rather embarrassingly, his ears turning a fantastic red.

 

The man shrugged it off with a smile. He was rather on the short side, balding a little, and he wore a dapper looking charcoal suit that fit to frame perfectly. “That’s quite alright. I’m just looking for some first edition Austen if you’ve got them.”

“Oh, do I ever! Right this way.” Aziraphale said excitedly. He was so excited, in fact, that he didn’t notice the curious way the man was looking at him, like he was puzzling out something he had seen on Aziraphale’s face.

 

They had just reached the right shelf when the man snapped his fingers, realisation dawning on him. 

“You’re Angel!” he stated quickly.

 

Aziraphale was genuinely taken aback, reaching out to the man quickly with his senses just to be sure that yes, this was indeed a human. Not an angel or demon or witch, just a regular run-of-the-mill human.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nearly a year ago now, there was a man somewhere on this street shouting about ‘Angel, I’m leaving and I wont even think about you’ yada yada yada. I saw you that day, I said you were better off without him.”

“Oh. OH! Ohhhhhh, dear…”

 

The angel hadn’t actually thought that he’d have to talk to someone who had witnessed that embarrassing display from such desperate times. It had been a rather sore spot in his memory, first having to deny Crowley’s pleas to run away with him _(_ against his greater desires) _ _,__ then having to hear the demon tell him he wouldn’t even cross his mind. It had been like a hot brand on his heart. He’d come to realise that Crowley cared more for him than that, but the words had still hurt.

 

“So?”

 

He blinked out of his reverie, seeing the expectant look on the man’s face. “Pardon?” he asked in return.

“Are you better off without him?”

“Ah…well. Not at all.”

 

The man looked genuinely worried for a bit. “That bad?” he asked, sympathy steeping his tone. Ah, so he was a good man. Aziraphale could feel the compassion coming off of him in waves.

 

“Oh no, not bad. He simply never gave me the chance to __be__ without him. For which I am very grateful.”

“He came back then?”

“He never really leaves.” the angel said simply, rather uncomfortable about this human man who seemed to be giving him this all-knowing ‘Hmm I thought so’ sort of look, as though he were seeing right through him. He tried to deflect from his own awkwardness for a bit with a rather forced chuckle. “He just takes off, screams at his plants for a bit, then comes back with a new scheme for us to work on together.”

“I don’t know how you put up with a boyfriend like that, Angel.”

 

Oh how weird the name sounded coming from someone other than Crowley. Something else was disconcerting about that statement as well, but Aziraphale couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

 

 

 

 

 

Wait a second.

 

"Oh no. No, no. No. We're not...we're just...we're not  _that _.__ We’re. Something else. Besides that. He’s not my…well…mine." Aziraphale said quickly, trying to ignore the traitorous whispers of his heart, the ones that wished that he was lying.

 

As though those heart-whispers were louder than his actual spoken words, the man gave him the facial embodiment of a sarcastic “Sure”.

 

"We're partners, if you will, but only just that. Partners. In a non-romantic way. Just business. There was a crisis, we had a falling out, but the crisis was cancelled and we're better now."

"Better?" 

“Better-ish. Good. We’re ok. It’s... _fine_.”

“Oh my…unrequited love, then.”

 

Now that really was just __too much__.

 

“Pardon me, but there are plenty of open books in this store that you could be reading. There’s no need to read me.” Aziraphale announced grandly, sweeping his arms across the book store in a frustrated huff.

 

That set the man off into peals laughter, which led to Aziraphale laughing along, feeling much better somehow that 1) someone actually knew the truth of his suffering, even if he hadn’t offered that information himself and 2) that someone wasn’t judging him for it.

 

“My name’s Eddie. Edward, really, but you can call me Eddie. Your name really Angel?” the man asked, reaching out a hand, Aziraphale meeting him with a firm shake.

“Aziraphale.”

“Ah, really does sound like an angel’s name.”

“Well, it is. An angel’s name. Lesser known, but written.”

 

The ice successfully shattered, the two proceeded to spend quite a bit of time standing around the Austen shelf, discussing what Eddie was looking for (a first edition for his sister’s birthday) that when it came the time when Aziraphale usually made excuses not to sell, or marked the price up far above the normal market price, he found he was actually willing to part with his book for once.

 

As he was wrapping up the hardcover of Sense and Sensibility in brown paper, wondering what on earth he was going to do with the human money Eddie had handed to him, Eddie asked him if he’d like to go out for a bit of coffee, to talk about life and things.

 

Aziraphale was intrigued.

 

He hadn't had someone aside from Crowley to spend time with recently. He’d spent time with humans in the past, certainly, but no one yet as of the 20th century. He found himself actually interested to see what a friendship with someone other than Crowley could be like.

 

Speaking of the devil, before he could even give Eddie his response, he heard a smart little *ding* sound coming from his pocket. Very few people had his number, so he knew it had to be Crowley.

 

Sure enough, the demon was asking him out to lunch. He tried to quell the uptick of his heart, but it was really more out of habit than any actual hope of success. He rarely ever succeeded when it came to calming his reactions to that demon.

 

“I’m not sure, Eddie, I’ve got lunch with Crowley in a couple of hours.”

“Oh, just a quick cup. We can talk about your man trouble. Perhaps see if we can get him a little jealous.”

“Crowley doesn’t get jealous. He envies, but he is never jealous.”

“If you say so. Just know that I’m up for a bit of mischief-making if you want to put that theory to the test. I’d put good money on him getting a bit jealous of someone else giving you some attention.” Eddie said with glee. 

 

Without so much as a how-do-you-do, he took Aziraphale by the hand and scribbled his phone number on the palm of it, tickling a giggle from the angel a little as he did so.

 

He then picked up the wrapped book and gave it a bit of a wave.

 

"If you change your mind, do give me a ring. We can have tea or coffee some other time. Don't worry about me falling for you, if that’s the hangup. I'm a bottom, and you’re clearly in desperate need of a top."

 

"A what?" Aziraphale was absolutely lost, but Eddie was already out of the door with a cackle and not so much as an explanation.

 

That had certainly been an interesting turn of events.

That morning he’d been a fake book store owner with an eternity of unfulfilled want looming overhead, and now he had just sold his first book to a human who seemed to be able to read his mind and had left him his number scrawled on his palm with the promise of meeting in the future.

 

A whole new world, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm supposed to be writing something else right now. Instead, I've got 11 pages of a Good Omens fic staring me in the face at 3 am. God damn you, Neil Gaiman!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lunch date goes...well.

“You are older than the World itself. You understand that? Whole millenniums older. You held flaming constellations in your grasp and moved them to your bidding like interstellar Legos. You decorated the galaxies and colour coordinated the cosmos. You caused the dawn of Sin, you Fell and then turned around and brought about the Fall of Man, the biggest “fuck you” the Heavenly Hosts have ever known. You stopped the apocalypse and breathed Hellfire at archangels in the very heart of Heaven, you watched them cower in fear then waltzed out. You are _strong._ Get. Your shit. Together. Old man.”

 

The golden ringed eyes that looked back at him gave off a pulse of soft, mellow light, belying his words. Dare he say it, they were mocking him. He could almost hear little church bells in the distance as the irises danced with a hopeful light, warm with the anticipation that welled in his heart (though his heart had the decency to keep it low-key). It was like a fucking Christmas miracle in the middle of summer. They looked more doe-like than snake-ish, and he would not _have it_.

 

While he often times looked like a demon with no care for appearances, what with how he sauntered about town and splayed out on any surface that offered a perch, Crowley was actually very particular about his presentation. He had one cardinal rule, come Heaven or high water.

Never. Show. Weakness.

Get angry if you must, scream and shout, shake a fist at the sky and maybe bitch about things like a crone or make a fool of yourself, but never look _vulnerable_.

 

When it came to his plants as well as himself, spots of weakness were not tolerated. And clearly, he could not take his traitorous eyes out and put them down the garbage disposal to teach them a lesson, so he had opted for an impassioned pep talk instead.

 

They were proving to be stubborn bastards, much like their owner.

 

He supposed he would have to settle for his usual wide sunglasses for this lunch date with Aziraphale.

 

__“_ I do wish you’d wear those sunglasses a little less, Crowley. I miss seeing your eyes. Such a lovely shade of gold. Beautiful.” _

 

Son of The Bitch, that angel had him twisted tightly around his pinky finger. He pettily hoped it cut the blessed angel’s circulation.

 

Oh, but he wanted so badly to do anything and everything Aziraphale wanted of him. It was one of his greatest pleasures in life, acquiescing to his requests and watching his whole face light up with joy. But dammit, Crowley only got to make a habit of angel wish-granting because Aziraphale didn’t _know _.__ And this wish? It would expose him, shed light on his tenderest feelings for the angel that must at all costs be flogged down beneath the surface.

 

He had learned to tame his body language ever since Rome, his aura since France, and he’d even managed to rein in his facial ticks (those uncontrollable, gooey smiles he had to fight back every so often) ever since that ‘an angel, a demon and some Nazi walked into a church’ joke, where he had brought a bomb as a punchline.

 

But his damned _eyes_.

 

“Ungrateful. S’what you are. The both of you.” he hissed at his reflection once more, pointing at them individually, just to be sure they understood he was talking to them. They needed to ‘see’ that he was doing what was best for the whole body, hiding the love that dared seep out from the corners and gaps like an unwanted ooze.

 

It felt like a cowardly retreat, deciding to wear his sunglasses for their lunch date after Aziraphale had asked so nicely to see his eyes more often. But he knew how to pick his battles…and his eyes were always on Aziraphales side, no matter the stakes.

 

He supposed it would have to do for now. He’d grant his angel’s wish once he wrestled his eyes into obedience. He had all the time in the world, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

The cafe Crowley had chosen this time around was known for its pie. He’d become a rather knowledgeable food encyclopaedia over the past year, thanks to the wonders of the internet. Anything to keep his angel entertained. He was beginning to run out of deserts for Aziraphale’s sweet tooth, he lamented as he sat at the cafe waiting for the angel. 

 

It was a new predicament for them to be in, and a rather happy one if he thought about it. The only reason he was running out of options was because he got to meet Aziraphale every other day now, and not clandestine meetings either. Open, free meetings under the light of day. They had _options_ now.

 

Crowley knew that once the novelty of exploration faded, they’d fall back on their pet places, like St. James Park and the Ritz. Probably have a few new favourite spots as well, with layers of shared memories and fond times. He really couldn’t wait.

 

Crowley seated himself nearer to the front of the shop rather than a more private booth, which had been his original plan before _somebody_ decided not to behave. He had wanted some privacy so he could take off his sunglasses, but that plan was now making itself comfortable on the backburner, so the front of the shop would do.

 

He spent the next few minutes looking through the menu, pinpointing what he bet his angel would choose and picking out a desert of two for himself as well (his sweet tooth was nothing like Aziraphale’s but he could do with a treat right now).

 

He was still reading when he felt the air get lighter, heralding Aziraphale’s arrival. He looked up and bit back his grin to a more subdued and pleasant smile. “Aziraphale. On time, as usual.” he stood in greeting, receiving a quick wave and grin from Aziraphale in return. Oh, but the air in the cafe was suddenly sweeter and more pleasant, as though perfumed. So much so that Crowley saw a few patrons sigh deeply and relax further into their respective seats. Aziraphale didn't notice the affect he had on those people, though. He rarely notices the affect he has on anything at all, the naive, sweet, charming, polite- hullo, what was that?

 

Crowley scrunched his nose as a new scent hit him, sniffing curiously about the angel while Aziraphale took his seat and pointed out an apple crumble with an excited cry (One of Crowley's guesses, of course). The scent that hung about Aziraphale like a halo, though it was decidedly not Aziraphalic in origin. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, it was so faint, but it was there like a niggling in the back of the throat.

 

"Are you quite alright?" Aziraphale asked, snapping him from his reverie. He hadn't noticed, but he had slowly leaned forward to sniff at the angel's jacket, confusing both Aziraphale and the waitress who had come to take their order, both of whom were beginning to look a little disturbed. Crowley straightened in his seat and ordered his coffee and cake quickly, before meeting Aziraphale's waiting eyes. Ah. He was expecting an answer, wasn't he?

 

“You smell…different, is all.” Crowley stated hesitantly. "Like something spicy, and a bit of something new like plastic. Something not you." He had his theories, of course, but he’d rather not jump to conclusions. After all, what were the odds that his angel smelled different because of another perso-

“Oh, that’s probably Eddie.”

 

It was a slip of aura, really. A rookie mistake, rectified in a jiffy, but not before Crowley managed to fill the room with a wave malice so thick that the humans next to them turned to stare at them in instinctual fear before he sucked it all back in. Luckily for him, Aziraphale was completely oblivious, instead watching the person at the counter making Crowley's coffee with a curious expression on his face.

 

Crowley waited for his fangs and forked tongue to recede before clearing his throat. He was going for nonchalant and unbothered. It came out like a croak regardless.

 

“Who is Eddie?” he asked. "And how did he get close enough to you to get a scent to stick around," he didn’t ask.

“A customer that came to the shop.”

??? “A _what _?”__

“He was interested in Jane Austen, so I sold him a first edition”

??????????????????? “You _sold_ it to him?!”

“Yes, it was for his sister. She sounded really quite lovely, like a true lover of the classics. It was for her birthday, you see. I do hope she enjoys it, I did go through a lot of trouble rebinding it after that horrendous collector tried to cellophane tape the whole thing.” He shuddered just to think about it.

  
Crowley shuddered to think about something else. Like how this human had gotten close enough to scent mark (he gagged a little) his pure and precious angel, and had managed to weasel a book from his veritable horde. He wanted to scream in panic.

 

“I’m sure she’ll love it.” he mumbled instead, trying to think of a way to get the topic back to this Eddie without looking obvious. Like a boon from Somewhere, their waitress brought Aziraphale's tea set about. Crowley took the opportunity to busy himself, taking a hold of the tea pot's handle (the soft smile of surprise he received from Aziraphale was lovely) to pour it into Aziraphale's cup. But then, that was when he saw it. The cursed scent source.

 

A row of digits sketched across the angel’s palm.

 

He barely registered the crackle across his own palm till Aziraphale cried out his name and rescued the tea pot from him, cracks running through its porcelain handle like a spiderweb.  

 

“He gave you his number?”

"What?" Aziraphale was too busy fussing about the pot to even look at Crowley's shocked face. He healed it quickly and gave the demon a quick look of reprimand.

 

"He gave you his number, angel?" he asked once more.

"Who, Eddie? Yes, he did. Said we could go out to coffee some time, talk about 'life and things'. He's quite an interesting fellow, with such a good heart. I could feel it when he- well, I could feel his goodness. Now will you tell me what ever is the matter? You seem awfully distracted today, Crowley."

"Who, me? Nooo. I'm fine. Nothing distracting me here. Just...craving some caffeine is all. Need that Americano, a.s.a.p." Crowley retorted quickly, spreading himself into his trademark sprawl, overflowing over the cafe chair with practiced grace.

 

The angel looked unconvinced, but let it slide. He allowed their conversation to veer towards books, weather and the residents of Tadfield. It had been a while since they had popped by for a bit. They were due for a reunion with Adam and the rest. Anathema was corresponding with Aziraphale 'via text', as he put it, and he was rather excited to see all the growing Adam had apparently done over the past few months.   

 

Crowley listened and responded to all these things, of course, but the  _scent_ remained in the air between them, robbing him of focus. Or rather, forcing a rather singular focus into his brain.

 

_Find out more about this Eddie character._  

 

Some time between the third cup of tea and the second slice of pie, a lull came upon the conversation and Crowley saw his opening.

 

"So...angel...will you be giving this Eddie a call?"

 

"Hmm? I suppose so. It's been so long since I had regular human companionship, you know. With a human not 'in the know'."

_Not long enough._

"He was really quite a darling, Crowley."

_Doubt it._

"I think you'd like him."

_Doubt that entirely._

 

Against his worse desires, and according to his better judgement, Crowley held his tongue. "That's nice, angel. Glad you found a human to talk to." he said instead, basking in the resulting smile bestowed upon him like a blessing. 

 

As they finished their treats, and as Crowley collected his second cup of coffee to go, he tried to calm his worries a little. They were unfounded, after all. What even was a human? Foolish things, especially the spiritually ignorant ones. Boring creatures, with a lifespan that was over in two blinks and a yawn. This? Competition? Absolutely not. It was like...well...it was like a python waging war on a field mouse.

 

He had absolutely nothing to worry about. After all, it was not like hadn't had a monopoly on Aziraphale's presence for the past two millennia. He could survive this man taking a tea time or two from him. There was plenty of angel to go around. And Crowley didn't own Aziraphale, after all. So no. This wasn't War. This was...this was shared custody, and he was fine with that, because he knew that to Aziraphale, Crowley came first. He knew he did, they had  _history._

 

As they walked along the street in a comfortable companionable silence, Crowley felt the angel’s eyes sizing him up a little. “See something you like, angel?” he teased, earning a beautiful blush up Aziraphale’s neck and ears. 

 

“Just looking at your clothes. You’re always so fashionable, Crowley, and I look like a walking museum mannequin sometimes. Its got me thinking…I think I might need to go shopping for a new shirt or two…” Aziraphale contemplated. 

Now there was something he didn't hear every day. “What ever for? You _love_ your shirt.”

“...Crowley dear, be honest with me for a moment. Does my shirt show signs of wear to you?” Aziraphale asked, picking at his sleeves self consciously.

“Looks as new as the day you got it, angel.” he assured the angel. 

“Well that hardly makes sense…Why would Eddie say that unless there was something quite wrong with my shirt?” Aziraphale mumbled, though he seemed pleased with Crowley’s answer, at least enough to continue walking.

“Say what?” Crowley muttered, matching the angel’s step and while taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“He said I was in desperate need of a top.”

 

Coffee.

Just, everywhere.

Coffee all over the place.

 

A fine, muddy mist of it hung in the air, rivers of it snaked down his chest and he could feel some drops trickling down his windpipe and choking him, and oh how he hoped those caffeine drops fucking KILLED him while they were down there.

 

Aziraphale watched in ever deepening concern, rubbing Crowley’s back as the demon’s hacking coughs morphed into riotous cackles that were beginning to frighten passing pedestrians.

 

OhohoHO, OH! haha yes, OOOOHHHHKAYYYY. al _RIGHTY_ then!! All fucking right, just sssssplendid, wasssn’t it?! Ssstraight tickety FUCKING BOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_This was War_.


	3. Chapter 3

Adam knew at this point that many of the reading materials he found in Anathema’s house were, to put it nicely, factually dubious. Aziraphale had been sure to lend him more credible books about the formation of the Earth (no mention of Tibetans digging about) and the possibility of Atlanteans returning to the surface (no).

 

While he appreciated the books and loved reading and discovering things for himself, he had to admit that there were times where the bizarre anecdotes Crowley told him were what he was craving.

 

The way he saw it, the books and factual historical accounts Aziraphale supplied were the potatoes, and the wild, and often crass, stories Crowley told him were the gravy. Taken together, it was amazing and satisfying, and having one without the other made for a lacking experience.

 

That being said, he had never considered what having _neither_ would ‘taste’ like.

He was beginning to discover that it tasted like neglect. He was starved of supernatural adult attention in ways Anathema and (occasionally) Newt could not satisfy.

 

“Did they say when they’re coming over?” He asked eagerly, craning to see what Anathema was typing on her phone.

For the bajilionth time that day, he wished his mum would give him a cellphone of his own. She had said it was unnecessary as all his friends were just a short bike ride away, which was true enough considering she didn’t even know of the existence of the angel and the demon.

 

He could have miracled himself a cellphone, of course, but that seemed rather like cheating.

 

“They’re not responding, Adam. I’m sure they’re busy doing angel and demon things. You know how those two are, they rarely look at their phones. I’ll tell you what, the moment they reply or call back, I’ll let you know.” She looked regretful, but her smile was reassuring.

 

Adam weighed his options. He was currently reading in Anathema’s kitchen and wasn’t due back until dinner. But Crowley and Aziraphale weren’t exactly the speediest when it came to answering their cellphones (Crowley was fast, when he wasn’t preoccupied, which they had to assume he was seeing as he was being radio silent).

 

“What if they don’t let you know till I’m gone?”

“I’ll call your house and let you know.”

 

He nodded slowly, completely unsatisfied. He wasn’t happy with this situation, of course not, but what choice did he have but to agree? He turned back to his book (or rather his travel magazine, because he had read everything else under the witch’s roof) and Anathema turned to the stove to begin cooking them some lunch (Beans on toast. She had discovered it shortly after arriving in England and had turned absolutely obsessed, having it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Adam hadn’t the heart to tell her that he was getting sick of it).

 

So it was in that kitchen, feeling a little sad and a lot impatient, that Adam made up his mind.

 

He’d been reading a long article on all the sights in London, and they sounded awesome. London was also coincidentally where Aziraphale and Crowley lived. They weren’t responding fast enough to his invitation for a visit.  And so he decided, if they weren’t going to come and see him, he was just going to have to go there and see them. And if they decided to ignore him, he would explore London on his own.

 

He hated to admit it, being a brave and adventurous boy, but his heart shrank at the thought of them choosing to ignore him…he didn’t do well with rejection.

 

Right, it was decided. If Crowley could do it, he didn’t see why he couldn’t as well.

 

He picked up Anathema’s phone and found Aziraphale’s number easy enough (he figured showing up at a bookstore was safer than a moving car or any other strange places Crowley might be) and dialled the number.

How hard could it be?

With a swooping sound and a cry of shock from Anathema that was quickly cut off, Adam was soaring through a whirlwind of colour and static, on his way to London.

 

* * *

 

 

Anathema was going to have a conniption. One moment, she was turning to ask Adam what drink he’d like, the next moment she sees him evaporate only to be sucked into her mobile phone. Could you blame her for shrieking? That sort of thing can be quite surprising when done off the cuff in an unsuspecting witch's kitchen.

 

Stumbling footsteps rushed from the living room, and Newton came crashing into the kitchen looking petrified but quite ready to jump to action.

 

“What’s happened?”

“He…he…Adam…”

“Adam? Something happened to Adam?”

 

She made a chocked sound, eyes still wide with disbelief, trying to find the words to describe it. Newt grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her, and maybe shake a bit of an answer out of her as well.

“He just…POOF! Into the phone!” she said finally.

 

It all happened so quick.

Newt turned and grabbed at the phone off the table.

Anathema screamed “NO!” so loud, the cupboards rattled.

The phone released a burst of light, a cloud of smoke, and the screen promptly went dark.

 

Somewhere in London, an angel picked up his phone just as the ringing ceased. “Hello?” he asked into the receiver. A dial tone was his only response. He put the phone back on the cradle and moved on to make some tea.

 

* * *

 

 

In the meantime, zipping through the phone lines, Adam knew the moment something had gone very, very wrong. He had been shooting forward incredibly fast, but there had still been some sense of direction in all the chaos.

Now, true chaos erupted. He was being yanked in all sorts of directs, hurtling about so quickly he hoped he didn’t end up in multiple places at once before he could properly pull himself together.

It was getting a bit too much, in fact it was starting to hurt, and he didn’t like it one bit!  

He looked about the endless colour-static void and decided if his route had been destroyed, he’d just have to make another. He saw a dark greyscale stream of static running parallel to him (or as parallel as something could be in a non-physical space), assuming it was an unused line.

 

It would have to do.

He reached out his hand and made a call.

 

Somewhere in London Stadium, a janitor with the name ‘Bob’ on his chest (though his name was actually Teddy) was minding his business and mopping floors in one of the hallways that led to the seating areas. He was so engrossed in the music pulsing through his headphones that he didn’t hear the initial rattle and clatter of one of the four payphones that lined the hall. His headphones were noise-cancelling, you see, and were really proving the pounds he’d paid for them by keeping him oblivious.

 

The rattling died down for a moment, before returning with a vengence, shaking the payphone just enough to push the handset clear of its cradle and send a tremor through the walls.

 

Finally, a crash of noise and tremors came upon the hallway.

 

As his earphones were noise-cancelling but not cacophony-cancelling, he finally turned in time to see what looked like, but by all means could not have been, a curly haired boy crawling through the swinging handset like a creature from a horror movie.

 

They looked at each other a moment in silence.

Teddy crossed himself.

The boy chuckled.

The next thing Teddy saw was the ceiling after he had come to in a puddle of mop-water, and the boy was nowhere to be seen.

 

* * *

 

Now, no one in a 50 mile radius of the village trusted the witch.

That was not to say that she was bad, because she was nothing of the sort. She was endearing and beautiful, absolutely harmless, and her boyfriend was really just the shyest and most polite young man to ever be. But she confused people, because they didn’t quite know what to react to her, as they felt obligated to a hereditary distrust of the occult that put them on edge. So the general rule was to live and let live (under close watch, of course, because you never know).

 

Mrs. Brown was rather fond of the witch in the sense that she saw how she was able to get The Them to sit quietly and read on a weekly basis in her garden, and any method that calmed those hellions for an afternoon was a gift as far as she was concerned. Whether she managed it by the power of prayer, animal sacrifice or a wish on a genie, was secondary.

 

She was also a good source of gossip, seeing as Mrs. Brown was the closest neighbour to her and could tell you everything about Anathema from her sleep schedule to her favourite TV shows, down to the colour of her underwear (she heavily favoured blue, racy looking pieces).

 

That, of course, didn’t mean she liked to interact with the witch. Mrs. Brown had a reputation to keep, after all.

 

So the last thing she was expecting that bright blue afternoon was for Anathema to be paying her a visit, especially not in broad daylight, especially not while cursing up a storm while waving a notebook at her rather chastised boyfriend.

 

Really, she was drawing all sorts of attention to them, and soon all the women in her sewing circle would know she had her over as company.

 

She considered ignoring the loud knocks at her door, but it soon got so frantic and rushed, her curiosity got the better of her and she answered if only to see what the hullabaloo was all about.

 

“Hi, Mrs. Brown, sorry to bother you but I really need to borrow your phone. I never got around to getting the land-line installed and I’ve got an urgent call to make, but __someone__ decided to turn my cellphone into a piece of smoked-circuit jerky.”

She could hear Newton mumble an apology under his breath.

“I’m not so sure that’s-” Mrs. Brown tried, but Anathema was already pushing her way through like an unstoppable force.

“Won’t be a second, Mrs. Brown, I promise. So sorry, but time is of the essence.”

 

Mrs. Brown could only stare in horror as the witch and her subdued boyfriend went in and made a beeline for the living room, hunting down anything that would look vaguely phone-like.

 

She was stunned, and in a second she knew she’d graduate to sputtering and then into lecturing, but before she could quite reach that stage Newton had found her landline with a triumphant “Here it is, Ana!”

 

The witch turned on him, face clouded with an unholy fury and hissed “Don’t you touch it!” so venomously, Newt thought she’d actually spit in his eye and Mrs. Brown mumbled the Lord’s prayer under her breath.

She pointed at Newt as though pinning him to the spot while she approached the phone.

His and Mrs. Brown’s arms shot up quickly in surrender like she had pointed a gun at them, hoping to de-escelate the situation.

“Right…won’t touch it.” “Not touching a thing.” they both stammered.

 

With a final glare, Anathema quickly dialled the number from a page in her notebook. Almost like an afterthought, she gave Newt a quick look, then jerked her head towards Mrs. Brown.

 

Now, what Anathema had meant with the look was for Newton to distract Mrs. Brown, of course, because there was no easy way to communicate over the phone that Adam had gone missing without alerting the entirety of the village, and the method being that he was ‘sucked into my cellphone’ was also a hard thing to explain away. She’d meant for him to take her into the kitchen for some tea and biscuits, talk loudly about the weather, something, anything.

 

To Mrs. Brown, Anathema had as good as dragged her thumb across her throat and said “Feed her eyes to my crows.”

 

She was off like a shot, tearing out of the house with a cry of fright at a velocity really quite impressive for someone with only one organic hip.

 

“...that works too.” Anathema decided after consideration, just as the person on the other end picked up.

 

“Who is this?” Crowley’s testy voice came through.

“Oh, thank God!” Anathema sighed in relief.

“Very wrong number.” She could hear him moving to hang up.

“WAIT! It’s me, Anathema!”

“Anathema? I’ve been trying to call you back. Charge your phone, ya daft witch. Tell Adam that Aziraphale and I will be by sometime tomo-”

“Adam disappeared!”

“...tell me __exactly__ what happened.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Crowley was no stranger to spreading terror on central London roads. He usually took perverse please in every tyre squeal and jumping pedestrian. He had no time to take such pleasures at the moment, which was a crying shame because he was breaking his own record and of 90 miles an hour as he came screeching up to Aziraphale’s bookstore.

 

His less-than-stellar parking position was even sloppier than normal, with one tyre directly on the curb. It didn’t matter. They’d lost the Antichrist __again.__ And this time was worse, because now he damn well __cared__ for this child.

 

Crowley charged into the shop, ignoring the ‘closed’ sign, as he didn’t count, and shouted for Aziraphale over the chiming of the door bell.

 

“Angel, Adam’s disappeared and we need to find him, he went to spend the day with the witch and buggered off after reading some magazines. Has he stopped by the the shop? She said you were the last number he call-who the Hell are you?” Crowley stopped short, eyeing the man behind the counter who had up to that point, been quite hidden by a mountain of books.

 

The first thing Crowley noticed was that he was wearing beige pinstripe. Crowley glared, sensing if this man was an angel, because what other creature willingly wore beiges and whites so thoroughly, but the man felt purely human.

 

The man also seemed prepared to introduce himself, standing and reaching out his hand, when Crowley's quick eyes darted to the teapot and two cups on the counter.

One of which was  _Crowley’s_ cupand strictly only CROWLEY’S. He knew it was his, it had a nick in it,  _his_  nick (he had put it there himself).

 

"Who...the  _Hell _...__ are you? And where is Aziraphale?" he demanded again, approaching rather menacingly, causing the man to shy back nervously.

Aziraphale chose right then to come from the back room with a plate of biscuits. "Oh, Crowley! Wasn't expecting you today. Have you met Eddie?"

 

Oh my.

 

“ _Eddieee_?” Crowley asked, his grin slowly spreading across his face. “I suppose I have, now haven't I?”

 

Eddie couldn’t help but imagine that grin opening up to to expose sharpened rows of teeth and a jaw slowly unhinging to swallow him whole. He swallowed around his dry throat and looked at Aziraphale for reassurance that he would please, please make sure this man didn’t eat him.

 

Aziraphale was completely clueless, beaming radiantly at black-clad, sneering man. Crowley may have been the one wearing sunglasses indoors, but it occurred to Eddie that Aziraphale was certainly the one blinded by some rose-coloured glasses right about then.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasant surprise?” Aziraphale asked happily.

 

Crowley’s grin fell instantly. “Unpleasant news, I’m afraid. Adam’s gone missing.” he said grimly.

 

Aziraphale didn’t drop the plate of biscuits but it was a close call, Crowley miracling it a fraction of an inch into his outstretched open palm.

 

“Good heavens! How?!”

 

Crowley glanced at Eddie then back at Aziraphale. Without a moment’s hesitation and none of the usual silly nervousness usually second-nature to him, the angel turned to Eddie, said “Please excuse us.” and dragged Crowley to the back room before they began to speak rushingly  harsh whispers.

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t exactly been hard to get to Soho. People were still suggestible when Adam focused on swaying them, so he had stopped a taxi and got dropped off in the general area for free.

 

What had been hard was looking for Aziraphale’s bookshop. He didn’t have any way of looking up an address, in fact he didn’t even know the name of the shop itself. So he had done what he figured was the only logical thing to do: he wandered and let luck, fate or a higher power guide him, as they often seemed to do in his life.

 

And sure enough, after some 10 minutes of walking, before him stood a shop with a sign “ A.Z. Fell & Co” over the door with a poorly parked Bentley in front. This had to be it, or it was perhaps the largest coincidence ever.

 

Mischievous child that he was, Adam had taken those 10 minutes of walking to plan out what he was going to say to Aziraphale (who was undoubtedly already made aware of his disappearance) to get the angel to take him about London for the day. Oh, and send him back in time for dinner, of course. He planned on riding the Ferris Wheel, at _least _.__

 

He entered quietly, the bell above the door giving a little tinkle as he entered. Within was a disorganised bookstore, piled with books from floor to ceiling, with a pinstriped man sitting at the counter looking a little troubled while what sounded like an argument in whispers came from the back.

 

He approached the counter, peering through into the back room and seeing an incredibly distraught angel sitting on a chair looking guilty as sin, with a demon knelt before him hissing harsh words of reassurance, a very interesting juxtaposition.

 

“If I had answered his call in time-”

“There was nothing you could have done, Anathema said that tech-repellent man of hers broke the phone before it got a few good rings in it.”

“He’s all alone somewhere in the network, being torn apart atom by atom for all eternity! Or worse, he could be alone in _London_!”

“Adam’s a smart boy, he’ll be fine.”

 

“Are you going to say anything?” the pinstriped man asked. He had been silent thus far, allowing Adam time to watch his two guardians for a bit, which made him alright in Adam's book.

 

“They haven’t visited me in months. It made me sad.” he responded.

 

The man nodded, both watching the couple for a bit longer in the meantime.

 

“Well…they’re still good godparents, so I suppose I should let them know I’m here.”

 

The man gave Adam a curious look, asking “They share you as a godson, yeah? As in they are both your godparents, together, as one…godparenting unit?”

“Yeah, they’re a package deal.”

"For someone so smart, I had no idea Aziraphale was so stupid."

“Don’t give him all the credit, Crowley is just as stupid about this. Couple of old fools. Guess its a good thing they’ve got all the time in the world to let each other know how they feel.”

 

Perhaps Adam had raised his voice a bit, or maybe they had coincidentally looked up, but twin cries of “Adam!” came forth from the back room and Adam soon found himself in the soft embrace of an angel.

“Hi.” he mumbled into his jacket.

“Adam, thank God you’re alright. Dear boy, I was so frightened!” the angel sobbed, hugging him tighter.

“No point suffocating the boy, we just got him back. Let him go.” Crowley drawled, though once Aziraphale hesitatingly released the child, he laid a shaky hand on Adam’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze and said “Never do that again.”

 

Adam pouted, turning his pitiful face to the angel.

“I hadn’t seen or heard from you both in _months_. I figured if you didn’t have the _time_ to come to _me_ , then I should go to _you_. Besides, I wanted to see the city. I read that there's a place where they keep prisoners strung up if they try to steal the Queen's jewels, and I want to see Big Ben, and ride to the huge Ferris wheel, and have ice cream in St. James Park and feed the ducks like you said you do sometimes. Won't take me? The _both_ of you?”

 

Aziraphale clutched at his chest like he had been shot. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, though his fidgeting showed the words were affecting him as well.

 

Crowley spoke first, as Aziraphale seemed to still be reeling from the guilt-trip hidden in the invitation for ice cream and duck feeding, “I’ll take you wherever you want to go, you little devil. The thing is, Adam, Aziraphale is a proper adult and sometimes adults make plans with other adults that can't be dropped just like that. Lucky for you, _I_ am not proper despite being an adult.”

 

It was quite obvious that Crowley was giving Aziraphale the option to opt out of Adam’s gate crashing. It was all nonsense, of course, because Aziraphale loved spending time with Adam. And he also saw visions of car crashes and chaos when he thought of leaving the Antichrist and Crowley alone.

 

“Without me? Abso _ _lu__ tely not.” He said quickly, before turning to Eddie, looking contrite. “So sorry, Eddie, I know we were going to…talk over tea and all. Can we take a raincheck?”

 

Eddie waved it off. “Of course, of course. We’ll reschedule. Spend time with your godson. It was nice meeting you, Adam. Call me, Angel.” he said, waving as he went.

 

About one second after the door had creaked shut, Crowley said calmly “Hmm. I’m going to go kill him,” already moving to follow the man.

 

Adam couldn’t help but chuckle, watching Aziraphale sputter and demand what on earth Crowley was on about, while the demon’s ears reddened to shades rivalling his hair. After all, how could Crowley successfully communicate (barring a love confession) that not one soul on God’s green earth, nor below it, nor above it, called Aziraphale ‘Angel’ but Crowley?

 

Adam realised two things as he watched them bicker. The first was how he had missed these two oblivious idiots. The second was that he wanted them to finally address the elephant in the room and kiss already, before he turned 12. And he knew just the people to help him out.


End file.
